


Country Matters

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Building a History Together: Marriage and Children [19]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Country Matters, Edwardian era, F/M, Fluff with depth, Literary Banter, Outdoor Mischief, Picnic tete-a-tete, Pillow Talk, Seductress!Marian, Sexual Experimentation, Strolling together, The Faraway Field, Trading Innuendos, smexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: Harold buys the faraway field as a birthday gift for Marian. They celebrate on their new land in a suitably steamy fashion.





	Country Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Shortly after I finished Harold Gets Laryngitis, it occurred to me that I missed a golden opportunity to work in some flirty wordplay about “country matters.” So I wrote this little vignette to make up for it. This also allowed me to dust off a fun little idea I never thought I’d get around to fleshing out!

_Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap?_  
_Ophelia: No, my lord._  
_Hamlet: Did you think I meant country matters?_  
_Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord._  
_Hamlet: That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs._  
_Ophelia: What is, my lord?_  
_Hamlet: Nothing._

_~William Shakespeare_

XXX

_June 1915_

When it came to finding the perfect present for his beloved wife’s birthday, Harold Hill considered a point of pride to top what he did the previous year. In 1913, he’d secretly learned how to play the piano for Marian and planned a romantic rendezvous for the two of them at the faraway field. In 1914, he’d commissioned the most elegant engraved silver locket with a secret compartment while he was in Des Moines on business. In 1915, after merely three years of marriage, he came up with an idea that was going to be awfully hard to outdo in the future – he actually bought the faraway field.

In March of that year, Harold took a little trip to City Hall to find out just who owned that piece of land. As soon as he tracked down the information, he paid a visit to the farmer in question. Given that the field was at the edge of the man’s property, he didn’t anticipate there would be too much difficulty in convincing him to sell it. While the farmer initially balked at parting with this acreage – not because he was especially attached to it, but because he couldn’t fathom what use the music professor could have for a tiny strip of land in the middle of nowhere that wasn’t suitable for anything besides pasture – the silver-tongued salesman worked his usual magic and persuaded the man to let him purchase it for a very reasonable price.

By the time the morning of June seventh finally rolled around, Harold was so eager for his long-simmering plans to come to fruition that he couldn’t contain his exuberance as he escorted Marian to the faraway field – he was so animated that nearly all the townspeople they passed wryly observed that the music professor seemed exceedingly enthusiastic for a Monday morning on the way to the emporium (as usual, he was carrying a tuba case to throw them off the scent). Fortunately, the beautiful weather provided a tailor-made excuse for his glee – the temperature was agreeably in the seventies and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

However, when they finally reached the outskirts of town, even Marian’s curiosity was piqued enough for her to remark, “Just what exactly are you up to this time, _Mister_ Hill?”

“You’re about to find out, my dear little librarian,” he said, grabbing her hand and whisking her through the fields. Normally, Harold liked to stop and kiss her as soon as they were certain of privacy, but today, he wanted to wait until they reached the threshold of their land. Once they did, he stopped, swept Marian up into his arms, planted a passionate kiss on her lips, and carried her across the border like she was his new bride.

“What on earth was that all about?” she asked, breathless with laughter as he deposited her gently back onto firm ground.

“Earth indeed,” he answered, feeling rather giddy himself. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the envelope containing the property deed and presented it to her with trembling hands.

It was delicious, seeing the awe and delight play across her beautiful face when she realized what he had done. “Harold,” she said wonderingly, “are you telling me that the faraway field is now _yours_?”

“ _Ours_ ,” he corrected, wrapping his arms around her and craning his head to nuzzle at her neck. “We have now got ourselves two lovely acres in the heart of Iowa’s farmland. Happy birthday, Marian.”

“Oh, Harold!” she gasped, hugging him back so fiercely that the paper crinkled in her hand. Not that either of them noticed this right away, as her mouth found his for an elated and ravenous kiss. When they finally parted, the librarian tenderly smoothed out the deed and returned it to its envelope. After the music professor placed it in the tuba case for safekeeping, he took his wife’s hand and they raced up their hill, laughing and frolicking together like a pair of besotted teenagers without a care in the world.

Once they reached the cluster of oak trees, Harold went right to work constructing a makeshift lean-to out of a pair of solid oak branches and a large River City Mohawks banner he had acquired especially for the occasion. That way, they would have additional shade and privacy as they enjoyed their _al fresco_ picnic… and any other activities they might have wished to engage in.

Indeed, as soon as Harold spread out a thick blanket and a couple of throw pillows for them to recline on beneath the lean-to, Marian pushed him to sit down and then straddled him. Once they had arranged themselves in an embrace that was both cozy and comfortable, she resumed covering him in kisses. Harold was more than happy to surrender to her ardent caresses, his hands roaming down the small of her back, waist, and hips – and then cupping her backside as she arched into him. While he would have gladly made love to the librarian regardless of whether they owned this field or not, he knew this gift would sweeten his wife’s enjoyment of their open-air rendezvous that much more. And sweeten her enjoyment, it had – she was nearly as uninhibited in her passion as she was in their bedroom at home when the children were out of the house. After all, it was no longer all that wicked, what they were doing – the fact that he bought the land they were presently making love on was yet another declaration of the steadfast commitment he’d made to Marian.

Pulling her tight against him, Harold buried his head in her hair and lost himself in the moment. After that, things moved very quickly – by now, they were both experts in making love outside with the most minimal possible removal of clothing and, almost before he knew it, they had stilled in each other’s arms, gasping and spent.

At least, spent for now. They had a long day alone together to look forward to, and Harold had packed a plethora of provisions to keep them both sated and invigorated. Pressing a soft kiss to Marian’s still-panting mouth, he whispered, “What say we have an early lunch, my dear little librarian?”

When she nodded enthusiastically, he extricated himself from their embrace and set out the delectable spread he had procured. Not only did he have egg salad sandwiches, potato salad, cornbread, watermelon rind pickles, and lemonade, he had even managed to pack a small dish of the rhubarb and strawberry cobbler that Mrs. Paroo had served at yesterday’s Sunday dinner.

Upon seeing this lavish meal, the librarian was overcome. “I know I say this every year, but this has been the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she said, her eyes glistening with tears. “You treat me like a queen, Harold.”

“You deserve every bit of it, Marian,” he said staunchly – and was rewarded with another deep kiss before they tucked into the food in earnest.

Once they had finished eating, Harold packed the remaining food away for later, and they immediately resumed canoodling on the land that was now theirs. While their embrace wasn’t quite so hot and heavy this time around, Harold was just fine with going slow.

“Marian,” he asked in between kisses, “now that we own the faraway field, would you like me to build a little cottage on this spot, so we can have even more privacy and comfort each time we come here?”

She regarded him with a pensive expression for a moment, and then shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep the faraway field just as it is – wild and unspoiled. If we built a cottage, even a modest one, it would turn into yet another project that we’d have to organize, clean, and maintain. We come here to get _away_ from such responsibilities.”

Harold grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that – I feel exactly the same way.” He leaned in and gave the side of her neck a love-bite just hard enough to make her moan and press closer to him. “We’ll keep this land as pristine as it was when you first found it. This is _our_ little haven, where we can leave everything in River City behind and just be a man and a woman in love.” He paused, considering. “Although… are you sure you don’t want me to at least erect a shed with supplies? We’d have a lot less to carry, and it might be nice to have an actual tent, from time to time!”

Marian sat up and looked directly at him. “Harold,” she said matter-of-factly, even as her eyes danced with impish delight, “the only thing I want you to erect out here is a maypole.”

When she reached down and started unbuckling his belt, he was already hard. Marian hadn’t been so bawdy with her pillow talk since that first heady Easter after they’d married. They’d needed to ease up a bit on the intensity of their lovemaking once her pregnancy ramped up in earnest, and even after Marian had fully recovered from childbirth, they had their hands too full with parenting boisterous twin daughters to quite reclaim such dizzying heights of impropriety. Harold did note with glee that when the Events Committee initiated the tradition of a maypole in Madison Park as part of the town-wide picnic they put on to celebrate May Day, Marian sported the most charming blush and small, secret smile throughout the day – particularly whenever her eyes fell upon the gaily beribboned and festooned structure. Although Harold did not outright tease the librarian about her dreamy daze, lest he cause real offense, he certainly reaped the benefits of the seed he’d planted during their newlywed days – their lovemaking later that night had been especially passionate. Marian had done a great deal of the leading, too, dragging him right to their bedroom and laying him flat on his back the moment they’d gotten the girls to go to sleep.

Although Harold was quite happy to let the librarian lead him whenever and wherever she pleased, he also prided himself on giving back just as good as he got. Not to be outdone, he roguishly suggested, “Maybe I ought to erect a flagpole instead… and maybe you ought to run your hands up my flagpole, to see if anything salutes.”

Having fully worked his erection free of both his trousers and his union suit, Marian archly observed, “It seems that you’re already standing at full attention,” before bending down and taking him in her mouth.

Once she’d made him come, he tugged her back down to the blanket with him. “Lady, shall I lie in your lap?” he teased, still panting as his hand avidly found its way beneath the hem of her skirt, up her warm thighs, and in between the split seam of her drawers. “Shall we discuss country matters? Shall we make the beast with two backs?”

Marian giggled, even as she gasped at the ministrations of his clever fingers. “When I dreamed of us occasionally pondering what makes Shakespeare great, I hadn’t ever imagined we’d be trading such naughty puns!”

Harold was so riled up by their wordplay – and her warm wetness – that his response was more heated than playful. “Well, you certainly don’t seem to be complaining, Madam Librarian.” To emphasize his point, he slid a finger fully inside of her and gave her a caress that made her moan and press even closer to him.

When Marian recovered the ability to speak, she assured him, “Oh, I’m quite enjoying your sweet nothings, Professor Hill… and I hope you’re enjoying my sweet _nothing_ , as well.”

Remembering just what part of the female anatomy that particular slang term indicated in days of yore, Harold groaned and surged forward, pressing his hips into hers, too frustrated by all the fabric blocking his way to continue their banter. She _did_ know how to rile up a fellow!

Marian had also grown eager for something more substantial. “Make love to me, Harold,” she entreated in a voice that was both solemn and yearning.

Extracting his hand from her “country,” he unfastened both her skirt and her drawers and tugged them down her legs, while she twitched her chemise upward as far as it would go. Once Marian was free of any garments that would impede making love in earnest, Harold rolled her beneath him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Although he was hard-pressed to think straight at this juncture, he was not yet so insensate with lust that he’d completely lost the thread of their conversation. As he slid into her, he recalled a line from _Henry V_ that he’d been saving just for such an occasion – the dirtiest one of all, delivered in the lowest, most velvety voice he could muster: “My pistol’s cock is up, flashing fire will follow.”

The scandalized and delighted moan that Marian let out at that was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

XXX

Much later, as the sun started to set and the shadows lengthened into evening, husband and wife spruced themselves up and then carefully packed away each and every item they’d brought to the faraway field. But they did leave one thing behind – Harold pulled out his pocketknife and carved their initials, surrounded by a heart, into the trunk of the largest and oldest oak in the copse they’d so idyllically occupied.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to top this year’s birthday present,” he said with a rueful chuckle, when he looked up from his handiwork and saw that Marian’s eyes were once again glistening with happy tears.

“I suppose you’ll have to buy the footbridge next,” she teased, wiping her eyes with the monogrammed handkerchief he passed to her.

Harold reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a tear she had missed. “Or perhaps I’ll have to find a way to make love to you in library, or the emporium,” he suggested, only half-kidding. _Or perhaps_ , he thought feverishly, the wheels of his ever-scheming mind turning, _we could go to Niagara Falls for a second honeymoon. Or maybe even Paris…_

Marian beamed at him – that warm and wonderful glow that made him actually believe he could do absolutely anything he set his mind to, no matter how pie-in-the-sky it was. “Whatever you come up with, I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

With that, Harold was decided. Someday, he was going to take her Paris.


End file.
